The Worst Song in the History of Fuckingever, Brought to You by The Terrible Tit Incident of 1990

I’ve recently been playing little Q & A games with a fellow blogger. They’re fun and hilarious and enlightening. Sometimes they’re silly. Sometimes they’re serious. You should totally try it with a friend, relative or someone you’re supertotally digging.

But sometimes seemingly innocuous questions accidentally invoke deeper responses. The following question posed to me had such an effect:

What is your least favorite song?

I didn’t even have to think about it. I immediately replied,

“Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa.

He never asked why I chose that response. But someone else here knows the story and said I should share it sometime. I said “NOFUCKINGWAY AM I FUCKINGEVER DOING THAT. I’LL DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS BEFORE I’D EVEN CONSIDER IT.”

So here I am sharing that little piece of my history. Are you ready? It’s fucking nasty and terrible and traumatic and eyeburning misery. But apparently quite fucking hilarious from an outsider’s perspective. (Thanks a lot for laughing. You know who you are!) Let’s start with…

The Reason Why You Should Always Fucking Knock

So it’s like, what? 1989? 1990? That sounds about right, because given where we were living at the time, I had to be around nine or ten years old. Which puts my older brother at fourteen or fifteen.

The point is that this was the year of my doom. My life was ruined for fuckingever. Or at least for the rest of the week. Same difference. It has been twenty-fucking-five years, and I still cannot forget it. All because of a careless door opening and all the tits in the world descending upon my heretofore innocent little eyeballs.

I have no idea what I wanted. I really don’t. Hell, I may have even been being a nosy little sister. The music was blaring from my brother’s room. I figured he’s in there by himself, doing something he’s not supposed to be doing. Like those things he used to roll on my elementary school D.A.R.E. pamphlets, then admonish me not to tell mom. Or just listening to all that naughty music with the curse words that mom hated. Words like motherfucker and dick and pussy. I didn’t know what all that meant, except it was supposed to be bad bad bad and you’re going straight to hell if you even hear those words. And I’d heard a lot from my brother, so I knew I was doomed to burn in the fiery abyss for all of eternity and beyond. Of course I don’t hear, think or dare say words like that anymore. So maybe there’s some motherfucking hope for me yet.

I walk down the little hallway.

I hesitate.

I turn the knob.

I open the door.

I died.

What had been seen would never been unseen. And I just knew I was going to frolic with Satan forever after this. No one could ever enter the pearly gates after witnessing…

The Tits That Sealed My Fate

My brother was in there, alright. But he wasn’t alone. There were tits all over the room. Wall to wall tits. I was drowning in tits. All I could see were tits. They were big and heavy looking. Thousands of them. Taunting me and my ruination. And the music of choice?

She immediately covered herself, and I ran away crying. Seriously. Crying. Straight to the couch I went, curling up into a ball and sobbing. I didn’t really understand much at this point, but I knew it was bad bad bad. And it would definitely end in hell. My brother was going to hell. His friend was going to hell. And my eyeballs were most definitely going to hell.

But if I thought my torment was over, I was wrong. Woefully wrong. It had only just begun. What came next haunts me far more than the Bouncing Boobs of Babylon.

The Punishment to End All Punishments

My brother immediately followed me into the living room, followed shortly there after by Booby Betty. Thankfully she had put her top back on, at least one small act of mercy in my impending waterboarding musical torture.

He’d brought his little silver boombox and two cassette tapes. He pulled up a chair from the dining table, and the girl sat next to him, on the coffee table. They sat so close to me that I could smell their sin oozing through their pores. Fucking bastards.

First, he speaks to me in a soothing tone. But I’m still sobbing and refuse to roll over and face him. I kept my hands over my eyes, covering my face and my shame.

Then he starts shaking me and gets loud.

Steph! Look at me!
I’m not fucking kidding!

Turn over damnit and look at me!
Steph!
Steph!

I finally reduced my sobs to shaking sniveling snotty sniffles. I rolled over, and first he tells me I’d better not tell mom. And then he tells me how bad I was for not knocking. That this is all my fault, because I should have knocked. She wouldn’t even have been naked if I had knocked.

And then he tells me I need to be punished.
He smirks.
The girl looks uncomfortable, shifting on the table.
He pops the first cassette into the boom box.

And the lyrics of “Push It” blare out at full volume. Straight into my little skull. He played the song all the way through, singing along with it. Laughing. Yanking my hands away from my ears. Pushing me down when I tried to get up to leave.

When that was over, he wasn’t finished. I thought it was done, but no. The next hour of my life was complete and abject misery.

Never Sit on Your Sister and Punish Her with Music

He needed to make sure I was good and punished. And would never ever ever again forget to knock on the door.

He popped the next cassette in. One of 2 Live Crew’s.
He pushed play.

I tried to get up, to get away. I was sobbing my whole guts out.
Not so fast.
He got up and sat on the edge of the couch and held me down.

The girl started protesting on my behalf.
She was visibly uncomfortable and told him to stop.
He shut her up and told her I deserved it.

That fucker sat there and held me down through the entire album.
Then he finished it up by playing “Push It” once more.

By the end of it all, my ten-year-old little self was a devastated shambles. I felt guilt, shame, confusion, fear, sadness, all of it. I completely internalized the whole situation. I wish I could forget that day. It doesn’t haunt me like other things do. But damnit, that was a bad fucking day!

But lessons were certainly learned, my dear Peopleaneous.

The Moral of the Story is:

Always Fucking Knock. Or Ye Shall be Tormented ForFuckingEver by the Ghosts of a Thousand Tits. ~Buddha

Never Punish Thy Young Sister with Pornographic Music. ~Ghandi

Never Ever Ever Use Words like Motherfucker and Dick and Pussy. Or Ye Shall Surely Perish. ~Confucius

And when Someone asks You to Please Please Stop that Song, because You Just Don’t Understand, Please Entertain her Seemingly Silly Whim. For You will Only Truly Understand if You, too, have been Waterboarded Musically Tortured. ~Churchill

That’s not funny (I mean, the way you wrote it was funny, so props), that’s fucking traumatic!! Your brother sounds like he was a real fucking asshole to you, and completely unreasonable. That little shit, terrorizing an innocent little kid like that.

What a mean brother – I always wanted an older brother but now I’m pretty glad I’m an only child! Not surprised you can’t stand the song 😦
I love the choice of descriptions for her mammaries, there are so may good words for boobs aren’t there?!

Wow, your brother was kind of an ass. One shouldn’t torture his 10 year old little sister. Are you sure you didn’t only see two tits in a million slow motion snapshots? Push It is kind of an idiotic song. But as an adult guy, I think there might be worse ghosts to be haunted by. I was raised in the land of the Puritans, therefore I’m forever cursed to be instantly mesmerized by all women. The power of curves compels me.

As bad as Push It may or may not be, being forced to hear a whole 2 Live Crew album is way worse. It’s a punishment as an adult I’d want to steer clear of, let alone having it foisted on a poor 10-year old girl.

That’s is a good thing. Trust me on this. Ain’t no good ever come from listening to a complete 2 Live Crew album and remembering any of it. Unless it involved a strip club (or so I hear; I don’t frequent those places).

What your brother did is not funny, not in the least. It was sadistic and abusive and waaaaay outside of the bounds of “picking on” you. It turned my stomach to read this. Whether it was learned behavior, or intrinsic meanness, or a combination of the two, it was – bottom line – unequivocally unacceptable. I am genuinely sorry you experienced such a defamation of trust at the hands of a person who should have been looking out for you.

Thank you so much – and yes, up until just about that time, he was my protector. But something happened when he hit teens, and he reverted to some of the terrible terrible things we were taught. He and my sister both inherited the emotional/mental abuse issues. I can only hope with all my might they didn’t inherit the other forms of abuse….but I worry about my brother…I’ve seen him abuse a dog. Gah. I hate that I even just remembered that.

Oh, and this: Reading about being forcibly held down by a male relative is likely to be triggering for women who have survived sexual abuse or assault, especially at the hands of a family member. Just something to consider.

Yes, and I think that’s why that particular incident was so upsetting for me. It brought back not-so-distant traumas right to the forefront of my mind. I freaked out pretty bigtime…and was messed up about it for a while.

Dayum, gurl. He got you good. He got you REAL good. (sorry. couldn’t help myself). You got out from under all that shit so I’m proud of you girlfriend. It takes a strong chickie to sustain that kind of fuckery and still turn out to be a compassionate and soft hearted soul like you are. ❤️
You’re soooo gonna get a happy ever after. I can feel it, Cinderella! (shut up! I’m being serious here). ❤️❤️

Geesh boys can be so mean I had a brother who did similar acts of punishment with my things when I was younger and as I got older told me I scared the living crap out of him with the way I learned to respond to things which is why he stopped…guess he started wondering if I would become a psycho or something, because I liked his form of torture (seriously I did and it did not bother me anything he did) and I started following him around. That put an end to that. Then eventually we grew up well together but that creeped him out he later confessed to me, LOL.

LOL, it wasn’t intentional but it did work. I mean he used to spin me around by my legs, make me sit on my hands and watch the object I wanted for hours while waiting for my mom to come home, eat stuff I didn’t want and tell me stuff was in it that probably wasn’t and the list goes on…#teamweird strikes again lol

I got one for you
How about being in a hotel room
And the manager barges in
Then says he thought the room was vacant
How about that one
It happen to me quite some time ago
But it’s true
Push it real good
The Sheldon Perspective

Much like the turtle, I now understand your angst about cleavage. I think I was lucky to be an only child. My friend lived with an alcoholic father and three mentally ill/abusive brothers. Your tale has made me relive the horror of soothing her and I am so sorry that no one was able to help you. Has your brother changed since then or was he at the mercy of demons?

We both suffered substantial child abuse. He and my sister both have battled many demons much differently than I have. Whereas I mostly turned into a timid introvert, they both struggle with serious rage issues and substance abuse problems. My brother fights really hard, but I’m afraid the demons have hold of him once more. He’s a very sensitive and yet angry man.

I am so sorry for all of you. My friend has finally come to some sort of peace with her siblings and has actually bought the younger ones (who are both mentally ill) a home to live in. I don’t think she ever forgave her father and I don’t blame her. Might I suggest that they might all have a diagnosed or undiagnosed mental illness? Bipolar illness has a strong hereditary factor and some people self medicate.

I think my brother is bipolar. I’m not sure about my sister. They’re both incredibly narcissistic. But my sister really believes it, where my brother doesn’t I don’t think. They’ve both got the rage, but she knows she’s like that and owns it. I hate it. He’s blind to it when it happens and then cries and apologizes.

And no, I will never forgive my father. Which means my siblings no longer speak to me because of my stance on him.

I didn’t forgive my father until long after his death. He was neglectful to me but mentally abusive to my mum. I am fortunate that all my cousins knew he was a black sheep so we are closer but half of them have a diagnosis!!! You can choose your friends….

And what do you mean I can not use the word “Motherfucker” ??? It’s one of the best words ever ! say it with me …motherfucker … it kind of rolls off your tongue and even my boy Robbie sings it https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgCuc1_VWWg
Turtle Hugs 😉

Steph: This is like group therapy via your blog! I sense a general group tone of agreement that your brother was over the line and his behavior was abnormal, not your ten year old response to it. With the abandonment of the big brother, protector, role, your brother lost a precious relationship, essentially forever, and you couldn’t help but feel the disappointment in the loss of that filial bond. No wonder you’ve had your problems, but they are not your ‘fault,’ and getting things like this off your chest might just help you in the long run. His behavior, coupled with the fact he did not lock the door, might also allude to the fact that he wanted an intrusion for some twisted reason. Just for note, there are a lot of us out there who have had even worse family/parents/ father relationship problems than yours, and took a long time to resolve them (or not, as my case turns out). Mine commenced when I visited my ‘father’ after major surgery, and he was being transfused with a blood type that immediately told me he was not my biologic father. Talk about a wake up call. It is a shaggy dog story, and I could write a novella about its ramifications, but we’ll wait for a time when we can settle back with a stiff drink and let it all out. (Primal Scream) There, I feel better already.

Thank you so much for sharing and commiserating with me. You’re right – the community here is astounding and outstanding.

My brother and I both suffered substantial abuse prior to the incident I wrote about here. Physical, sexual, emotional, mental. You name it. The behavior from him that day pales in comparison to other things we went through and even other things he did. Some of which I don’t think I can ever write about here. Though I know if I do, I’ll get support. Because y’all are fucking awesome.

Speaking of fathers, I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive him. Not even now that he’s suffering mightily from a major major health crisis. I’m so sorry about what happened with your father. You’re right. Perhaps a stiff drink or three would make a conversation like this a bit less painful.

It’s hard to pick a single least favorite, but the Quantum of Solace theme “Another Way to Die” is pretty fucking close. Especially after hearing all the rejected alternatives for the movie’s theme, including a rejected tune sung by Shirley Bassey.

Who is Shirley Bassey? Oh, no one. Just the lady who sang more Bond movie themes than any other musical artist in history. Y’know, Goldfinger, Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and The Man with the Golden Gun.

THAT Shirley Bassey. Rejected. In favor of no-talents Jack White and Alicia Keys.

That was the point where I abandoned the film series I’ve been watching since I was a kid.